


All Seasons Sport

by MistyBeethoven



Series: "Yes, I Really Am This Pathetic!" or "How to Say I Love You With a Story" [61]
Category: Hardball (2001)
Genre: Airports, BBW, Baseball, Baseball Idiots, Chicago (City), Chicago Cubs, Chicago White Sox, Comedy, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Meetings, Gambling, Healing, Hopeful Ending, Love, Love Stories, Melancholy, Overweight, Picnics, Poetry, Reflections on time, Robert Louis Stevenson - Freeform, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Slice of Life, Sports, Teachers, Virginity, Weight Issues, Wrigley Field
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25680103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyBeethoven/pseuds/MistyBeethoven
Summary: Sent to Smyth and Stevens to work on a merger with the company for my company, Jimmy Fleming has Conor O'Neill show me around Chicago. Sounds great until after Conor declares that he is taking me to a Cubs vs White Sox game and we find out we are fans for opposing teams. When the man hurts my feelings at Wrigley Field, I soon find out O'Neill is merely upset over having lost his girlfriend to his best friend and the impending graduation of his beloved Kekambas from the grade school where he teaches Phys Ed.On much better terms, Conor and I find strength our new friendship as we muse on the passage of time and loss and we discover in each other the chance to love one another in all seasons.
Relationships: Conor O'Neill (Hardball)/Me, Elisabeth Wilkes/Conor O'Neill (Hardball), Elizabeth Wilkes/Ticky Tobin (Hardball), Jarius "G-Baby" Evans & Conor O'Neill (Hardball), Jefferson Albert Tibbs & Conor O'Neill (Hardball), Jimmy Fleming & Conor O'Neill (Hardball), Kekambas & Conor O'Neil (Hardball), Kekambas (Hardball) & Me, Kofi Evans & Conor O'Neill (Hardball), Kofi Evans & Jarius "G-Baby" Evans (Hardball), Miles Pennfield & Conor O'Neill (Hardball), Ticky Tobin & Conor O'Neill (Hardball)
Series: "Yes, I Really Am This Pathetic!" or "How to Say I Love You With a Story" [61]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589944
Kudos: 3





	All Seasons Sport

**Author's Note:**

> Conor and Hardball...
> 
> I'm getting you for this one, Keanu. 
> 
> You made my mother cry...
> 
> You made my sister cry...
> 
> You made me cry.
> 
> You're a bad, bad man.
> 
> But you were so good in this and it is such a moving film. I watched it again on Saturday night and your work in it was strong and the eulogy was beautiful.
> 
> It made me sad though after seeing it for the third time. I just felt such a deep mourning for the passage of time, people and events. I get that sadness strongly every now and again and I had it last night. I still have it infact. Probably why this is a bit more melancholy than I had planned. Nothing lasts forever. Well almost nohing. But it's nice to think of the films you have made and how they capture that specific place and time. They are the children of air we can see lingering in the garden.
> 
> And once you read this hopefully you will now what the heck I am talking about when I saw that. ;) <3
> 
> Oh...and admittedly I ripped my The Replacements story off a bit here.

"So you're Erin Smyth?" the handsome man with the short dark hair, casual clothing style and intense yet gentle brown eyes asked after I had traversed the busy lobby of O'Hare Airport to reach him like he was my personal home plate. The only indication he had that I was the girl he was looking for was the fact that I was the one walking towards him. I was far better off due to the fact that he was holding up a sign with my name on it. Even though he hadn't pronounced my last name right, I was grateful to see it spelt correctly on the piece of cardboard, at least. I could never get over how many people ended up spelling it with an "i" and not a "y" even after having seen it written down.

"Yes," I said with a nod. "But I pronounce it like Sm-eye-th. Sorry."

He glanced down at the sign he was holding. "Huh, funny. I'll have to let Jimmy know that his company is pronouncing the name wrong. That should be fun."

Jimmy Fleming was the man whom was supposed to be greeting me after my plane landed in Chicago. He worked for my far distant cousin's company Smyth and Stevens Security but I suddenly knew that whomever the attractive man standing in front of me was it wasn't Mr. Fleming. But like an idiot all I could say was, "You're not Jimmy?"

"No, I'm Conor O'Neill," the stranger said apologetically, taking his left hand from off the sign for me to shake. "You're stuck with me showing you around the city. Sorry about that."

He didn't have to apologize, I thought shyly, as I took his hand in my own chubby one. Conor was very nice to look at, had a nice deep voice and had an air which was friendly and created comfort. That was important for me because I had suffered from extreme shyness since childhood. Whether this was because I had always been overweight and teased for it or that my father and paternal grandmother were both emotionally abusive, I could not tell. Some part of me felt that I just would have been shy anyway, even if I'd been like all of my thin classmates and had possessed Mister Rogers as a dad and called Betty Crocker grandma.

"Don't be," I said. "You'll do much better. After my messages with Jimmy Fleming, I was nervous to meet him."

"Yeah, Jimmy can be a little hard to take sometimes," Conor said, propping the sign up against his slightly baggy jeans and placing his hands on his hips which really weren't even there. Although his black leather jacket hid his body mostly, I could still tell it was leaning towards being long backed and rectangular in build. This was my favorite shape for a man actually. Too wide of hips struck me as being more feminine than masculine and being old-fashioned I liked my men more the latter than the former. This was another reason why it was both soothing and attracting me everytime the man opened his mouth and spoke.

I saw Conor studying me better now too and inwardly cringed. While he was, on first glance, at least, definitely everything I had ever wanted in a guy, I doubted he would think the same way about me. I was plainly dressed, in a long sleeved white shirt, pink vest with sketched in white triangles on it, black jeans and old sneakers. My curly brown aurburnish hair was lying loose at both sides of a face I could feel blushing deeply and I was scared to rest my green-gray eyes on him again incase I read judgement in his eyes regarding my weight, which eagerly announced that I spent my time searching the Plus size racks at any department store.

"You're dressed perfectly for what I have planned for us this afternoon after I take you sight seeing," he announced and I looked up finally to see his eyes the same, without a hint of condemnation or disgust hidden inside of them.

"I'm glad for that," I said relieved. "Where are we going anyway?"

"To see the White Sox play the Cubs," he said. "It's a charity game."

"That's great!" I exclaimed, happy to get the chance to see my favorite team play. When I'd been told by my boss that I was being sent to Chicago to meet with some cousin I'd never even met's firm to hopefully establish some kind of merger, it had been one of the only things I had been looking forward to.

"Yeah, we'll kick those Northsider's asses into the ground!" Conor stated.

Apparently he saw my face fall because he asked, "What's wrong?"

"I'm a Cubs fan," I informed him.

"Oh," Conor replied but suddenly seemed far less friendly.

* * *

I was suddenly left feeling as if the charming man whom had picked me up at the airport had vanished and an irritable and cranky doppleganger had suddenly shown up in his place. Or he'd taken a sip of a certain Dr. Jekyll's personality altering formula and couldn't control his darker impulses. While he showed me some of the major sights in Chicago, I had to endlessly listen to him insult every single player on the Cubs roster while extolling the virtues of the ChiSox boys.

The trip to Wrigley Field in O'Neill's banged up station wagon was uncomfortable and tense. He was in the process of saying it was yet another year my team wasn't going to receive a pennant, let alone a _ring_ , when I'd finally had enough.

"Look! I get it. You don't like the Cubbies!" I finally exclaimed and then looked out the window at the graffiti on the side of a store.

"You're wrong," he said. "Actually I love the Cubs. When I used to gamble, I could always be sure to make money on them whenever they played."

"You could?" I asked turning to look at him, smiling hopefully.

"Yeah, I just bet against them."

I quickly turned my attention back outside to steal fleeting glimpses of more very creative, albeit rude and crude, artwork.

* * *

At the stadium, Conor slammed down several dollar bills as he paid for second row seats for us. He seemed less than thrilled about it and I knew suddenly that he was regretting being stuck with me despite his previously good natured attitude about the whole thing. I wondered why he'd agreed to it or how Fleming had tricked him to show the big girl from up North around.

When I stopped at a stand to buy a hat with the easily recognizable bear logo on it he said, "Fuck" under his breath, after realizing I'd fallen behind, and rushed back to me. "Keep by my side won't you! A girl from Canada can get her head eaten in this town."

I turned around, the blue and white Cubs hat already on my head.

Conor shook his own hatless head. "Shoulda known Miss Big White _North_ would be a _North_ sider."

I swallowed and pouted a little, hoping the "Big" was just in reference to the size of my country and not myself. "Well if you were Canadian maybe you'd be more polite and have better taste," I remarked.

O'Neill grabbed the bill on my new cap and pulled it down over my pouting face. "Quack quack!" he said before taking my arm and painfully pulling me forward.

I pulled my hat up with my free hand and still could feel a rush of happiness, despite my ill tempered company, that I was actually in Wrigley Field! I looked at the ivy growing on the wall and smiled happily as Conor plopped me down in a seat and then sat beside me. He turned to look at me in annoyance as he folded his arms. "What?" he said. "You never see leaves growing up the side of a wall before?"

"No," I said. "One side of my house has vines all over it...but it isn't _Wrigley_!"

I smiled up at him and his grumpy expression faltered for a second and I thought I saw a return for a few seconds of the man I had initially met carrying a sign with my name. No. This man was even _warmer_ than that. Then his face found its rancor again and he swore and looked away from me and my Cubs hat.

Being ignored by my guide, I had a brief conversation with another Northsider called Steve Bartman, whom loved the team even more than I did. He was a sweet guy and we exchanged a wave as he returned back to his seat higher up. I turned my head back to catch a glimpse of Conor stealing a glance at me too.

When the hot dog vendor came along, I was about to buy one for me and for Conor too when he remarked, "You sure you should do that?"

"What?" I asked.

"Two hot dogs? Isn't that a bit much. Wouldn't want you to miss the Cubs losing when you took a heart attack."

This snide comment hit too close to where I was soft and vulnerable, I pushed both hot dogs up against his chest, not caring about marking the man in mustard, ketchup, relish and onions. "One was for you, you Southsider you!" I cried, my tears filling up. "But you can have them both you giant _weenie_!"

I bolted out of my seat and ran to the edge of the stadium to get away from Conor O'Neill. I wasn't just crying by the time I reached the rail but all out sobbing instead. I was far away from my home and being repeatedly antagonized by a man I had initially thought was sweet and cute. Not wanting to win the attention of the players, whom were warming up down on the field below me, I blinked back any fresh tears and bit on my bottom lip to squelch any loud sound.

"Hey," I suddenly heard Conor say by my side and opened my eyes to find him apparently having returned back to Jekyll. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I lied and looked away.

"Honestly. I'm a jerk. You would have done much better with Jimmy...I'm not good company these days. I told Jimmy that. But he needed a favor and I owed him so..."

I turned to look at him as he placed his elbows on the rail and wrung his hands together, exhaling sharply.

"What happened?" I asked, sniffing.

Conor turned his brown, once more gentle eyes on mine. "Life," he said. "I used to be a gambling addict. Jimmy got me out of a bind once by giving me money to coach baseball to a team made up of inner city kids. They were called the Kekambas. I got used to the guys. Most of them are too old to play on the team now...I hardly see them outside of the school where I work as a Physical Acitivities Coordinator. They are going to high school come September. I'm gonna miss 'em, I guess."

My hand went instinctively to his wide back and I could feel the strength in it even past the leather. The man glanced at me, his dark eyes looking rather happy by my touch. I told myself it was just because he was grateful for my comfort even if there was a somewhat more naughty glint to it. "And to top it all off, I found out the woman I'd been trying to date chose my best friend over me."

"I'm so sorry," I apologized.

Looking out at the field, the man smirked. "And his name is Ticky, for fuck's sake! What woman in her right man would pick a man called _Ticky_?"

"My money would have been on you," I stated.

"Really?" he asked touched. "I wasted so much of my life gambling...it's funny to be thought of as something to be wagered on."

We both looked down at the field.

"Do you want to go home?" I asked. "I'd understand."

I was rubbing his shoulder as Conor looked at me sideways again a smile playing on his nice lips. "No. Actually I'm a Northsider too."

"What?" I exclaimed, taking my hand off his shoulder to stare at him in shock. "What was all of _this_ for then?"

"The teacher was a huge Cubs fan. HUGE. I went over to the ChiSox after she went with Ticky. But if you're one, I don't mind turning my coat back to the other side."

Smiling, I took my hat off and put it on Conor O'Neill's head, pulling the bill down so the cap covered his handsome face. "Quack, quack," I said.

* * *

I spent most of my free time away from Smyth and Stevens with Conor.

We went to Slugger's, a bar he liked to frequent, once together and I was worried for him after he'd introduced me to a happy looking couple, whom had turned out to be Ticky and the teacher, Elizabeth. When we sat down at our own table, I leaned across it and whispered. "Do you want to go home?"

"You're always asking me that question; I'm going to take you up on it one day," Conor said with a laugh and grabbed my hand.

My home while I was in the Windy City was a company house where Smyth and Stevens was letting me stay. While I missed my real home, I was getting to feel terribly sad whenever I thought of returning to it. Chicago was great but I would miss Conor O'Neill more than anything else.

"Are you okay?" I asked another question, feeling that he was only joking with his reply to the first. He had to be; if Elizabeth was his type I was no where close to someone like that. Our boobs were both big but when she leaned over a table, as I was doing now, I knew it was unlikely that her tummy touched it too.

"I'm fine," he said, gazing at me affectionately. "It's nice to have someone who cares." His finger began to brush against my thumb ever so gently and I told myself he was trying to make the other woman jealous in case she was watching.

But, even if he was, he had a very nice thumb so I just let it stay there.

* * *

Days still passing in shared company with the Phys-Ed Coordinator, the man had a better chance to open up about his pain. I think I was able to help him with it because it was my own in a way. In the Art Institute of Chicago, a museum filled with art done by people long dead, Conor looked at the paintings and admitted. "I used to gamble all of the time because I don't think I was really all that interested in actually living. When I stopped, I could see why. It's easier betting on how far a player will be able to make a basket or how far he can hit a fucking ball. Life's fucked up. You bet a piece of your heart away which is worse when you lose. Like Elizabeth. Or my Kekambas. With sports you can always be sure the new season's coming up in a few months. With life, once it's gone its gone. It seems that life is all a gamble and your assured of a loss sooner or later."

I walked by Conor's side, the Cubs hat on my head now. It would find its way back to his head once we were outside. That was our rules for it: Inside it was mine; outside it was his.

"I used to get so sad about time passing," I confessed. "Still do. Ever since I was a little girl. I could see it sharply...things growing old, dying. I loved old people. I saw them being so close to death, all of their seasons having passed, and I felt an ache of love for them in my heart even if they were strangers. I wanted to hold on to them, to keep them here, alive. I didn't want them to go. I never really cared about myself but losing everyone else, the world's loss...that broke my heart."

Conor placed his arm around my shoulder and hugged me. He then pulled the cap's bill down. "Quack Quack."

I was laughing as he pulled it back up but I discovered his face looking even sadder then before his attempt at being light hearted. "I'm going to lose you soon too," he said "My Canadian duck will be flying back on up to Canada."

"Care to migrate with me?" I asked. "Trade your baseball bat in for a pair of skates and a stick?"

"Me playing hockey?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah," I stated. "You probably could have made a career out of it. Put you in front of the net and call you something like the Wall."

Conor laughed. "Right. Just another brick therein."

I held him tightly, feeling that if I were a bird I would perch on that wall all day with no great impulse to fly off to anywhere else.

* * *

"Coach!"

Conor and I turned around one day in downtown Chicago to see a group of black teenagers heading towards us. They were all smiling, happy to see the man by my side. Even though I was shy, I enjoyed watching his face brighten as he started to walk towards them, grabbing my hand and pulling me along with him.

"Kekambas!" my friend exclaimed. "This is Erin."

I heard a chrous of greetings, smiling that even if I couldn't recognize some of the words they all seemed genuinely warm and with no hint of an insult. Conor introduced the boys one by one to me, but he had already told me so much about them, I didn't need much help.

A boy steeped forward named Jefferson, chubbier than the other ones, like me, and handed Conor an item. "Look Coach, we know we ain't gonna be seeing you so often now. So we got together and got this for you."

I peeked over my tour guide's arm to read the inscription on the wood and golden plaque.

 **_To Conor O'Neill;_ **  
**_You took us to the ship but we love you more for all the times you brought us to the field and back in your station wagon._ **  
**_You taught us all how to play by the rules and when to break 'em too._ **  
**_Diamonds may make a field but they make up your soul, Coach._ **  
**_Respect, Brother, Forever,_ **  
**_your Kekambas, both_ ** **_here and above_ **

I raised my head and was sure that if I hadn't I would have soon mistakenly believed that it was raining.

"Thanks guys," Conor said, his eyes flooding with tears.

"Don't think you're gonna be free of our sorry asses none either," Kofi, the one with the outstanding eyes, stated. "G-Baby gonna tell big brother, from Heaven, where you be and whatever you be doing."

The boys all looked at me and started to whistle and ahhh indicating that they thought I was their coach's girlfriend and was most likely what he would be doing.

"Thanks guys," Conor said and started slapping each of the Kekambas' hands.

As we were walking away, Miles, in his pair of earphones, shouted out, "Be seeing you Big Poppa and Big Momma!"

I looked up to Conor. "Big Poppa? Big Momma?"

"Believe me it's high praise," he said, holding the plaque closer to him while he did the same with me too.

* * *

I'd seen most of the sights as my stay in Chicago drew near its end, the merger sucessful. Some even twice. The last place I requested for Conor O'Neill to take me to was the baseball diamond where he had coached the Kekambas and won the big championship. It was a cold autumn day but we packed a picnic and ate it in the outfield. I guess, Conor could tell that something was wrong because he soon asked me if I was okay.

"It just seems so sad here now with the season over and all."

"Another one's coming up," he reassured me as he was lying on his side.

"Yeah," I said, feeling sad all the same but not wanting to steal his own comfort. I wanted to think of his Kekambas always playing on the field and G-Baby alive and watching them. I wanted to think of that and hold it close to my heart, like the man I had fallen in love with had done that day with his plaque. Closing my eyes, I thought I could see and even hear all those boys playing together on the field around us, the sounds of their joys, frustrations and triumphs.

A poem by Robert Louis Stevenson I had loved in childhood came back to me, one I had remembered and would often recite inside of my head.

_"As from the house your mother sees_

_You playing round the garden trees,_

_So you may see, if you will look_

_Through the windows of this book,_

_Another child, far, far away,_

_And in another garden, play._

_But do not think you can at all,_

_By knocking on the window, call_

_That child to hear you. He intent_

_Is all on his play-business bent._

_He does not hear; he will not look,_

_Nor yet be lured out of this book._

_For, long ago, the truth to say,_

_He has grown up and gone away,_

_And it is but a child of air_

_That lingers in the garden there."_

I thought then too of Graham Greene or C.S. Lewis saying that all things lived and died and how we needed a God outside of time to remember them.

"Come on," Conor said, rising to his feet. "I hate to see a pretty lady sad."

"You mean there's someone _else_ here?" I looked around.

"Very funny," the man said pulling me to my feet.

"You're sad because this place isn't being used? So let's use it."

He walked to where a ball was lying alone and forgotten and picked it up. I followed him all the way to home plate where he turned around and pointed to the pitcher's mound. "You stand there. We'll play catch."

I cringed. "I don't throw too well."

"Just try," he stated.

Surrendering, I walked back to the mound, feeling how Charlie Brown must have felt when defeat was imminent. When Conor tossed the ball in my direction, I missed it and it fell to the ground by my side. "I don't catch well either," I said as he looked at me in bemusement. "I was the girl in the outfield praying for the ball to stay far, far away."

"Throw it back," Conor instructed.

I did.

And beaned him right on the forehead.

The man quickly fell on to his back and on to the undusted home plate.

"Conor!" I shouted and ran to him, falling on my knees beside his supine body. "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

He looked pretty knocked out until he grabbed me and pulled me on top of him, his eyes opening lasciviously. The man kissed me for the first time, a passionate action filled with the same energy used in a game of ball and I fell into it effortlessly despite never having done it before.

"Not a bad date," Conor O'Neill remarked, letting my lips go. "I got you to fourth base finally. Maybe G-Baby was watching, like Kofi said, and helped me out."

I looked down into his eyes and then hugged him lovingly. "I don't want to migrate back to Canada."

"Then don't," Conor said, holding me tightly back. "I want my Big Momma."

"You really mean that?" I asked in surprise.

He nodded and then said, "Yes. I loved you the moment you put that Cubs hat on. I didn't want to, knowing my luck, but I did."

"Your luck's improving, I love you too," I said in return, kissing his lips again. "But...I'll need your baseball expertise."

"How?" Conor asked.

"Well, you see, I've only ever been to first base before Coach, and that was right here and now with you."

"You're kidding?"

I shook my head.

"Sure I'll teach you," Conor O'Neill said, rubbing my back. "It will be my honor. On one condition..."

"What is it?" I asked.

"That you be my all seasons sport," he gave me his rule as he pulled me closer to him, our foreheads touching as he still lay on home base. "Not summer, or winter, spring or fall...I want you to be my every season girl. Beause I want to play you all year long, Erin."

I smiled down at him, my tears falling on his cheeks. "Always," I answered. "Batter up!"

We kissed a few times more before Conor suddenly said, "Yes."

"Yes what?" I asked breathlessly.

"Let's go home," Conor replied, kissing me passionately as his hands slid on in to second. "But G-Baby better close his eyes."

**Author's Note:**

> I always wanted to tell you, Keanu, how the Cubs brought me hope. In 2016, when they reached the playoffs, my mother had been dead for over a year, I was in a painful situation and my OCD was just as horrible as it always usually is.
> 
> But I loved watching the Cubs make it to the World series. They were Harold Ramis' team and I felt bad he had never seen them win. Ramis is special to me, always will be, because he played Egon Spengler, my first love. He had died a year before my mom and I had worried about him because he didn't really believe in too much...not in a soul that existed after death despite his being Buddish, as he called it.
> 
> But I wanted him to be somewhere...
> 
> Well as I was cheering on the Cubs in his absence, the situation I was in was worsening and I was feeling hopeless and dreadful, especially when the Cubs were doing so poorly against the Pirates. Nobody thought they could bounce back after having lost three times to them. It had hardly ever happened before.
> 
> But then they did.
> 
> That last game...I was scared to death. I kept track of it on my phone...I had to pee...the tie...they took a break when it started to rain...the rain made me have to pee even more...but then the Cubs came back and they won with an 8...
> 
> My favorite number.
> 
> The last time they had won was 1908, 108 years before and they won with that last number 8...
> 
> All of those 8s...
> 
> And after it had looked impossible. 
> 
> I knew it was God, or Harold himself telling me that he was still there and not to worry about him anymore.
> 
> I hold on to that. :D <3


End file.
